


Statistically Significant Other

by unicornsandbutane



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Barebacking, Bickering, First Time, Lab Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 00:12:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4158276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornsandbutane/pseuds/unicornsandbutane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flattery will get you everywhere.</p><p>Or, the fic computerbaby on tumblr requested, in which Newt compliments Hermann and Hermann is really really into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Statistically Significant Other

**Author's Note:**

> This is a thank-you to computerbaby on tumblr who helped me with a math thing. So in return I present a pornographic fan fiction only about a paragraph shorter than Hermann Melville's "Bartleby the Scrivener". Ennnnjoy~!

The requisition for a new pair of scissors for the lab was filled on Tuesday afternoon, along with a delivery of nitrile gloves, soap for the dispenser, a carton of chalk, paper towels, glass cleaner, and a bottle of ibu profen. Unfortunately, the scissors were new from the store, and came still sealed in their hard plastic blister pack. Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, noted mathematician/cosmologist/physicist/programmer, turned the package over in his hands, looking for an easy-open tab. No such luck.

Dr. Newton Geiszler, foremost in the field of kaiju biology and the primary researcher responsible for cracking the kaiju gene sequence, looked up from a preparation of tissue slides and raised his eyebrows at his lab partner. “What’s up with you?” he asked, succinctly. 

“A catch-22, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann replied crisply, trying not to let the relative aggression of Newton’s question affect him. 

“Are you about to invoke Godwin’s Law?” Newt asked, dredging up distant, foggy memories of assigned reading from the summer of 2007. 

Hermann clicked his tongue. “No,” he insisted, “I’m about to have some very precise, direct questions for whoever filled this requisition.”

“What the hell kind of complaint can you possibly have about scissors? Unless, wait, are they left-handed?” Newt peeled his gloves off with a snap and dropped them into the biowaste bin under his table. “Because that would be a major drag.”

Hermann held the package up demonstratively. “Scissors. In a blister package.” He explained, as Newton approached. 

Newt smacked his own forehead. “Oh my god. That is so dumb. That is so completely stupid, I can’t even— Who made these scissors? Who thought this was a good idea? Putting scissors inside of a package you’d—”

“—Need scissors to open, yes,” Hermann supplied quickly. 

For a moment Newt considered his implements. Scalpels and bone saws and Metzenbaum scissors, he had. None of these were really appropriate for cutting hard plastic, and he didn’t really want to dull their blades with improper use. Well, improper use that wasn’t in the name of totally rad science, anyway. He shrugged.

“You’re a smart guy, Hermann,” he dismissed. “You’ll figure it out.”

He was about to turn, about to cross to the delivery cart to break into that fresh box of gloves, when he noticed that Hermann had gone completely still, his lips twitching as if he wanted to scowl. His features never quite settled. 

“Um,” Newt interjected, “What gives?”

“You can’t have meant that,” Hermann grit out. His mouth contorted again, this time with more willpower towards the frown he so frequently employed. 

Newt’s brows furrowed behind his glasses and he tilted his head slightly in question. Sure Hermann was weird, and often reacted perhaps more emotionally than a given situation really required, but that was a strange statement, even for him. In the silence, he watched the mathematician’s body language change. His face shifted from that nebulous expression and resolidified into his customary look of icy disdain. He stood up straighter and sniffed once, glancing imperiously to the side. Newt wasn’t having it.

“No, I seriously believe you can find some way to free the scissors from their PVC prison,” he drawled. “If you can’t open a blister pack, I don’t know how you expect to close the breach.”

“Newton, that isn’t what I meant, for God’s sake!” he hissed, and there was fire in his eyes when he rounded on Newt again. 

“Well, then, you want to explain it to me, brainiac? Apparently, I’m missing something, so why don’t you clue me in?” He crossed his arms, and stared Hermann down, faltering only a little when the malice in Hermann’s face melted into something closer to confusion. Newton’s hands dropped and then he flailed, his waving hands reflected in Hermann’s dark, glassy eyes. “What?!” he sputtered, trying to get some kind of reaction out of the physicist. It wasn’t usually such a difficult task. 

Hermann’s mouth opened, and shut again. He raised an accusatory finger, and dropped it again. Finally, he shifted his weight and focused on some distant point over Newt’s shoulder, and huffed. 

“Ever since we met, you’ve never called my work anything other than pointless, needlessly time-consuming, viciously obsolete, and, on one memorable occasion, the only logical result of too much time spent waiting for internet pornography to download.” He pinned Newt with his gaze. “You have not spared one civil word for me, not in the effort of maintaining a professional working relationship, not even as a joke, since your final letter to me.” 

There were some insults in there, and Newt bristled. “Oh, am I too mean to you, suddenly? Is that what this is about? Because I was under the impression that you were an adult, and like, apparently some kind of big-deal physicist or something. Come on.” Newt rolled his eyes, and heard Hermann pulling his blazer more tightly around himself. “I don’t see what this has to do with scissors, anyway,” Newt complained, unrolling and then re-rolling his shirtsleeves. 

“Forget the blasted scissors!” Hermann exclaimed, chucking the package down on his desk with such violence that it bounced off and went skittering across the floor. “Honestly, you’re too bright to act this obtuse! I was merely shocked that you called me a ‘smart guy’, after eight years of disparaging remarks.” 

“Oh yeah?” Newt countered, trying to keep his voice level, “Well, there’s been no shortage of ‘disparaging remarks’ from your end, either, pal. It’s a fucking waste, you know, that your considerable brain power is being taken up by concocting new insults to fling at me.”

“There, you see, you’ve done it again!” This time Hermann did wag a finger in Newton’s direction. What was going on?

“What, like it’s such a big secret that you’re a fucking genius? I mean, that’s just, you know… well, depending on where you stand on the political spectrum, it’s either simple fact, or proof of an adherence to a pre-existing paradigm of privilege structures within academia especially regarding ableism and neurodivergence, but, you know, for given parameters of ‘genius’, I think we can accept that you are one.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. Hermann blinked very rapidly, clutching his lapel like a lifeline. “I mean, if you buy into that kind of cultural mythos. It’s really deeply rooted in a sort of nineteenth century ideology that is probably irrelevant in this day and age, but, yeah. Probably a genius. After all, I should know, because, within those same aforementioned parameters, so am I. If you put a lot of credence into that sort of thing.”

Part of Hermann’s subconscious was telling him to leave, to get out before this became too humiliating. But, he didn’t. He shook his head, disbelieving, wondering what on Earth had happened to inspire this rash of… well, he wouldn’t call them compliments, because they were either couched in sarcasm or flippant disinterest, but it was certainly a change from the usual commentary. 

“Oh my god,” Newt continued, a grin splitting his face and making Hermann only slightly nervous, “It is totally weirding you out, isn’t it, me acknowledging what you already know. Your internal systems are all going, DANGER, WILL ROBINSON! Right?” 

Hermann had no words. Was Newton implying he was a robot? 

“What are you talking about?” is where he settled. It was an old standby, and a favourite for giving him stalling time while Newton explained himself. 

“I read your dissertation, man. From like, 2016.” Newt was still grinning like a loon, and Hermann was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“My God, Newton, that was nearly ten years ago, where on Earth—” 

“I was cleaning out an old thumb drive. Remember you sent it to me right before we agreed to meet? And then, yeah, you remember what happened, you ass. So I never read it. But then, I found it on this flash drive, and I was like, let’s see what ickle 26-year-old Gottlieb presented to the Board. I expected it to have something to do with the Mark-1 Jaegers, since the year before that, that’s all you talked about in your letters. But it was all High Energy Astrophysics, instead. You were a busy bee, weren’t you?” 

He tried to fight it, but Hermann could feel the heat in his face, and it was ridiculous. Newton wasn’t  even saying anything particularly kind, but it was just so unexpected Hermann found himself swallowing convulsively as though he could battle down the rising flush that way. 

“Dude!” Newt took a half step closer, and he was still well out of arm’s reach, but Hermann felt his shoulders tense, all the same. “You’re totally blushing! Holy shit, is it because I read your old research?” 

“I am not!” Hermann protested, even if he knew it was in vain. 

“You lying sack of shit, you are too.” 

Hermann hoped that the colour in his cheeks would dissipate if Newton continued to insult him, but as he backed away from the man, he could only feel his face burning brighter— ashamed that his own blood would betray him, and that Newton, damn him, had to point it out.  His back hit the wall and he realised how he must look. He must look a terrible coward, and entirely suspicious. 

“You don’t have to look like I’m going to take your throat out, man. It wasn’t that bad.” 

‘Not that bad?!’ Hermann wanted to shout, ‘I received Faculty of Science commendations for that!' But his throat closed up, and all he could do was frown. 

“Relax, Herms, I guess it just proves you’re human. You’ve passed the replicant test. Well done.” 

“Why do you continue to intimate that I am a robot?!” Hermann finally growled, turning his face toward the ceiling and inspecting the ductwork. 

“I didn’t! I just said that your blushing is proof of your organic biology. In fact, humans are the only animals that blush, did you know that? Other animals possess the capillaries to do so, but we’re the only ones that use them that way. Actually, Darwin described it as the ‘most human of all expressions’. So just, keep on doing that and— oh, wow, the tips of your ears are going red. That’s crazy, it’s so bright. You must have really thin skin.” He made his way around the desk, looking Hermann over like one of his specimens. Hermann had nowhere to go. “Emotional flushing as an involuntary reaction to stimuli, especially auditory, is pretty interesting actually, because it’s not totally understood why humans exhibit that trait. It’s been suggested that it served as a form of nonverbal submission within a hierarchy, but as it’s most observable in fair-skinned individuals, and our early human ancestors were likely darker skinned, it’s unlikely that we evolved blushing as a signalling function.” He was close enough to touch, but didn’t, instead looking at one side of Hermann’s face. “Under lab conditions, test subjects asked to sing while a researcher stared at one of their cheeks resulted in increased colour in the observed side, and consequent higher facial temperature in that cheek. Also weird, children don’t blush until they are two or three years old, so it seems some psychological understanding of social expectation develops at that point, and that such an understanding is necessary to trigger a blush response. Pretty cool, right?” 

This was torture. This was Hell. Hermann was certain that his own eternal torment would look very similar to this, especially when the next thing Newton said was, “This is totally unfair, though. You blush like an anime character. Just, right across the nose, cheeks, and ears and everything else stays pale… how is that fair? When I blush, it’s like, roots of my hair all the way down to my chest. How come you get to blush like some kind of bishounen and I don’t, huh?” And then, Newton flicked Hermann’s ear and Hermann yelped, and wheeled on his lab partner, at once fuming and trying to discern whether the comparison to a cartoon was a compliment or not. 

He raised a hand as if to deliver an answering smack, but decided against it, trying to remind himself that to do so would be immature and unprofessional. “When you blush, it makes your freckles stand out,” he declared, instead. 

“Haha, yeah,” Newt agreed. “Guess it stands to reason that you’d notice weird details like that. But like, I hardly ever see you blush. Or like… anything. You are like, the second most uptight person I have ever met, right after the Marshal. Is that whole English ‘stiff upper lip’ thing like, really, you know, a thing? Because like, neither of you smile, ever.” 

“If you don’t remember, Doctor Geiszler, we are in the middle of an apocalypse. I don’t find much to smile about, in that,” he needled, resisting the urge to contradict Newton's assessment of his... congeniality? Anyway he wasn't totally humourless. Newton’s whole body swayed with the force of his eye roll. 

“So you’re determined to be miserable in case we die? That is so fucking weak, dude. Life, man, it’s totally precious in the face of possible extermination. Go watch some goddamn cat videos or some shit, Christ.” He turned to Hermann’s desk and removed his iPad from its docking station. There was a lock screen, but 1-9-8-9 logged him in, and he cast a sidelong glance at the man responsible for some of the most complex programming code in recent history. He scoffed, and opened Safari. “I’m actually surprised you use the default browser on this thing, man. I would have expected you to have tricked out all your electronics, hardcore.”

“Newton, I really don’t think watching videos on the internet is a valid use of our time, at present. Really, we should return to work, there’s no telling—”

“Yeah yeah, whatever, shh. Look, here’s a cat attacking a Halloween decoration because he thinks it’s real.” He sat Hermann down at the desk, and pulled another chair over for himself.

With a quick look at the upload date, Hermann ground his teeth. “This was posted the day after Spinejackal attacked Melbourne. Who on God’s green Earth is posting cat videos immediately following such an event?!” 

“Probably someone who lives inland, or nearer the Atlantic. Look, whatever, the point is, despite everything, life still goes on, man. People still buy cars, and have kids, and get jobs, and pay mortgages, and make cat videos. People still celebrate anniversaries, and watch television, and have birthday parties. You aren’t down with that? I mean, look at all the awesome stuff we’ve done, dude! Neither Germany nor England is anywhere near the breach, but you pulled it together for the Mark-1 Jaegers, regardless of that. To save humanity. That’s pretty cool, my man.” 

Hermann looked at his hands. Newt nudged him in the elbow. 

“Holy crap! You’re smiling! Wait, no, come back here, look at me, I wanna see it! Oh my god, dude, you look totally different!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermann squawked, but it was too late, Newt was holding him by the shoulders, analysing his face, and he didn’t know how to react to this oddly intimate proximity. He was close enough to see the different shades of green and bronze in Newt’s eyes, smell the product in his hair. 

Newt pushed up his glasses, and licked his lips. 

“Hermann,” he mumbled, pupils dilated, his stare intense. “Did anyone ever tell you… Your eyes are like brown M&Ms?” 

Hermann’s face fell. He blinked. The silence stretched between them. Just as Newt was gearing up to either ask ‘what?’ like that was a completely normal thing to say, or to backpedal furiously, Hermann snorted, and coughed, and his shoulders shook, and he buried his face in his hands, and it took Newt a solid three seconds of gut-tingling fear before he realised that Hermann Gottlieb was laughing.

He did his best to maintain his straight face while Herman rocked with silent laughter, because any time the man peeked out from between his fingers, and looked Newt in the face, he collapsed into paroxysms again. From behind his hands, Hermann cried, “What? What? What?!” over and over again, unable to articulate anything more intelligent than that. And then there was a snuffling sound, and Newt had to laugh too, because apparently, Hermann snorted when he laughed, and fucking of course he did, but he couldn’t believe it had been eight years and he’d never heard it. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, dude, dude, seriously, holy shit,” he babbled, bracing himself against the desk. His glasses slipped down his nose and apparently, this, too, was very funny because Hermann gave up on silence and bleated a very loud, “Ha!” before falling into his own folded arms on the surface of the desk, the strength of his laughing fit shaking his pens in their mug, and making the desk creak on its legs. 

Newt’s hand was on his shoulder again, pushing until they faced each other. There were tears in Hermann’s eyes and he wiped at them impatiently as he tried to calm himself, tried to bite down on his smile. 

“Dude, you are so red, oh my god,” Newt pointed out, and Hermann went to turn away, but the biologist’s hands shot out and cupped his cheeks. “No, no, dude, it’s good, you look good. Stop. Please.” And he looked so damned sincere, Hermann didn’t even protest. He wanted to grumble that ‘looking good’ wasn’t his primary goal, but it was Newton saying it, of all people, and all he could say was, “Oh?”

“Yeah, man. Your face just lights up when you laugh, like, pow!” He shook Hermann’s head slightly to illustrate, and Hermann felt the corner of his mouth twitch, felt his jaw aching to grin. Then he felt Newt’s thumb trace his cheekbone. “You have like, the best cheekbones, dude. I bet the curvature of your zygomatic process is off the charts.” 

He didn’t stop, brushing one thumb slowly over Hermann’s cheek, their knees touching. Hermann wet his dry lips and swallowed. He slid his hands incrementally forward, from where they’d rested at his side, until his fingertips just barely brushed Newt’s jeans. Newt glanced down, and then back up again, shifting forward in his chair so Hermann’s hands rested more fully on his legs. He was so close, he could feel Hermann’s breath on his lips, could see that maybe Hermann’s eyes were more gold than he’d thought, and he smiled. 

“I think we’re about to kiss,” he said, and then his hypothesis was proven correct, as he canted his chin up a little, and Hermann tilted his head, and their lips met. 

Newt’s stubble rasped Hermann’s smooth face. His breath puffed against him. His hands slid into his hair, and Hermann’s found their way to the front of Newt’s button-down shirt. They pulled at each other, and where the kiss at first was chaste, it suddenly wasn’t, when Hermann tugged Newt’s lower lip with his teeth, and Newt gasped, and fisted his fingers in Hermann’s hair, and Hermann dropped his face into Newt’s throat with a deep, filthy moan. 

Newt’s body went tense, and Hermann lifted his head to ask why, finding Newt blinking deliberately over wide-blown pupils, his lip tucked attractively between his teeth. 

“Fuck,” Newt whispered. “Your moan sounds so good. God, what can I do to hear some more?” And Hermann wanted to look away, certain he was blushing again, but Newt dragged him close, and held him tight, and said, “Don’t you run away now, man. I know every part of you is screaming to put up the barricades again, but I’m serious. I’m fucking serious, man. You sound so good like that. Is that weird?”

Hermann nodded awkwardly into Newt’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, well…” Newt stroked his hands down Hermann’s back. “I don’t care,” he decided. “Can I kiss you some more?”

Hermann nodded again, and then muttered “Please” into Newt’s collar, and Newt said, “Oh, fuck” again, because Hermann’s mouth was just under his jaw, kissing and sucking and scraping his teeth, and Newt arched into it, feeling Hermann’s arms wrap around him, feeling his hands gripping his back.

“Herms, you’re goddamn brilliant, that’s so fucking perfect, holy shit, holy shit—!” 

Newt swallowed thickly, and Hermann felt it under his lips, felt Newt’s hands shaking as they carded through Hermann’s short hair, held him near. 

“Nmm,” he mumbled into half a day’s beard growth, and Newt’s whole body shook. 

“No no no, you gotta, fuck, you gotta stop that before I get all, and you’re not, look, you asshole, I swear to Christ!” 

And Hermann pulled his mouth away, and raised an eyebrow at Newt, who took a moment to run his hands through his own hair and breathe. 

“Was that not…?” Hermann asked, unsure how to phrase the question. Newton was not even looking him in the face and a spike of cold dread went through him, afraid that he’d crossed some line, or they both had, and now things were irrevocably changed forever— 

Newt waved his hand dismissively. 

“You gotta give me a second. It’s like, it’s been kind-of a while since I’ve, y’know, been with anyone and I don’t, I mean, I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Not exactly rockstar, you get me?” He flicked his eyes up to Hermann, trying to look cool, trying to put on a brave front, and Hermann had to smile.  

“Don’t you make fun of me, man!” Newt warned, but there was a smile hiding behind his eyes. “You telling me you’re some kind of secret sex god?”

Hermann gawped for a moment, but then straightened, and made a show of brushing imaginary lint from his blazer. 

“Well,” he sniffed, “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, now would it?”

Newton laughed. Newton threw his head back and laughed, and then dissolved into high-pitched giggles he tried to stop, but couldn’t. “Okay, wise guy,” he teased, poking Hermann in the side, “Let’s see what all the fuss is about.” 

And Hermann was going to have a really witty, quippy reply, he was, or else he would at least ask what Newton meant by that, but then the man’s hands were under his lapels, pushing his blazer off of his shoulders, and he had to comply or risk falling from his chair. The blazer crumpled behind him when he shrugged out of it, and then Newt’s fingers crept under the hem of his jumper, and their eyes met again. Hermann nodded, and then Newt was tugging fit to stretch the poor thing beyond repair, and Hermann raised his arms to let it be pulled over his head. When they both sat there, in their trousers and button-downs, Newt looked him over. 

“Okay, so tell me. Do you have like, poor circulation, or do you just like making things difficult for people?” Hermann’s mouth pulled into a strange line, and Newt felt compelled to explain. “Because you wear so many layers, dude.” 

“It’s awfully drafty in here with all the ventilation fans on,” Hermann insisted, his shoulders pulling inward, but Newt steadied him, warm hands on his sharp collarbones, feeling them under his clothing. 

“Yeah, but, that’s just Occupational Safety and Health procedure, man. It’s for your own protection.”  He’d begun unbuttoning Hermann’s shirt, and lamented when he saw there was even an undershirt beneath that. 

“I’m aware of that. But at the top of my ladder I am closer to the fans than you are…” 

“Oh whatever. Help me take your shirt off.” And then he paused, hands stilling. “I mean, if that’s okay. I dunno, should we talk about this? Like, this thing that’s happening?” 

After a beat, Hermann touched Newt’s knee. “I’d rather not,” he said. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather keep going.” 

Newt looked at Hermann’s long, thin fingers laid against his jeans. He watched them inch forward, halfway up his thigh, before Hermann gave a squeeze, and Newt felt his heart stop for a single, dizzying moment. 

His fingers tore at his own buttons with first impatience, and then aggression. “God fucking dammit!” he groused. “I should just buy shirts with snaps or some shit I swear to god—!” Then he was struggling out of the sleeves, his forearms getting caught where he’d rolled up the cuffs, and the whole mess ended up inside-out and on the floor, but he pushed up his glasses and tried to steady himself, his hand perilously close to Hermann’s, still resting on his leg. He could feel its proximity, like a static charge, and his heart stuttered again. 

“…Your shirt,” Hermann commented, belatedly, staring with consternation at the tee Newt wore under his long-sleeve. 

Newt glanced down. “…Yeah?” 

It was sort-of charcoal grey, and maybe a little small, and it had John Cleese in what would pass for a Druidic cap printed on it and the words, 'I got better.' in orange type. 

“You can’t be serious,” Hermann said. 

“Monty Python, dude. You’re from where they grow those, so I assume you’d get the—”

“I get the reference, yes!” Hermann snapped. 

Newt chewed his lip for a moment. “…Because she turned him into a Newt.”

Hermann dropped his head into his hands. “I know,” he moaned, rubbing his temples, but Newt ducked, and tried to catch his eyes again, and Hermann reached out, fingers tracing Newt’s jaw, before his hand jolted forward and tweaked Newt’s ear. “Payback,” he said, sitting back in his chair.

“Oh, you complete and utter shit, c’mere, you!” The chair nearly toppled when Newt climbed into it, and there was a brief scuffle as he tried to muss Hermann’s hair, or flick his nose, or something, but Hermann held his tattooed wrists and they struggled, neither sure how serious the fight really was. Rather, neither was sure if this meant they would just go back to their usual squabbles, and ignore certain recent events. 

But then, Newt leaned forward, trying to get some leverage against Hermann’s unrelenting grip, and this brought their chests together, and each could feel the other’s warmth through thin undershirts, and slowly, Newt lowered himself, leaving him straddling Hermann’s hips. Hermann shifted up, clumsily, experimentally, and Newt answered by shifting down, and it became a slow roll, a tease through layers and layers of fabric, the significance of which was not lost on either. 

“Shall I…” Hermann faltered, realising his hands had moved from Newton’s wrists to his hips. “Er, shall I take off my shirts?”

Newt looked down at him from his perch, eyes wide, and perhaps the pause was a little too long before he said, “Yeah, sure, you know, whatever,” and rubbed his nose, trying for ‘nonchalant’, and failing. “Here, um, let me just—” He pulled his tee up over his head, and then had to fish out his glasses and resettle them, before he could concentrate on Hermann, who had carefully tugged his arms out of his sleeves, and folded his Oxford shirt over the arm of the chair. His undershirt went a little more reluctantly, with much side-glancing and lip-biting. Then they were both shirtless, and staring at each other, and the silence clouded their heads. 

Haltingly, Newt raised a hand, and slid his palm down Hermann’s shoulder. He thought perhaps Hermann had more muscle definition in this arm than the other, but of course, that made sense, since it was the arm he used to brace his weight against his cane. He trailed his fingers over a wiry bicep, into the valley of the man’s elbow. His veins stood out in stark relief against his forearm, and Newt held back the urge to whistle. 

 

“’Kay, so,” he interjected. “Can you explain why I find this so goddamn hot?” 

“I couldn’t possibly,” Hermann replied peevishly, refusing to meet Newt’s eyes. 

“No but like, can we just take a second to look at your arms? And like, your hands? Look at these prominent bones and everything.”

“Is this what biologists find attractive? A visible skeleton?” Hermann asked, feigning distaste but knowing that if he asked, Newt would explain. 

“Oh, please. People go on about other people’s smiles all the time, and like, teeth are the one part of our skeleton that actually protrudes from within the relative safety of our flesh, so like… It’s not even that weird.” 

That was not the answer he'd expected. For a moment Hermann blinked at him, and tried to assess whether these were the ramblings of a serial killer or not, but after consideration, he decided that with all the access to bladed instruments Newton had, he’d have murdered Hermann long ago if that had been his intention. 

Newt stroked back up Hermann’s wrist, forearm, elbow, and bicep, raising gooseflesh along Hermann’s skin. He smoothed his fingers down Hermann’s chest, feeling out thin skin and compact musculature, sparse hair and the occasional birth mark. 

“I can’t believe this,” Newt commented, smiling. Hermann’s mouth twitched. “What are the odds, right? The last guys standing, the last two researchers in the science division out of the whole of the PPDC, and we’re both queer? You tell me, man, you’re the math whiz. How unlikely is that? Statistically.”

“I never said I was that, you know,” Hermann argued, though he admitted privately it might have been a bit of a moot point. 

“Oh.” Newt pulled away, sitting back and sobering slightly. “I didn’t uh… well. I mean. Okay.” He turned, leveraged himself up with the desk. “I guess this is, um. I mean, it was stupid, anyway! Here in the lab and everything, door wide open, shit, what was I thinking. I mean, but. No wait, I asked you, and you said ‘yes’. Well, you said ‘please’ anyway which is just as good, right?” He was pacing, and Hermann watched the tattoos shift while Newt gesticulated. “What is all this about, man? Actually, on second thought, why am I even asking you? Jesus shit.” 

Hermann bit down on a torrent of things he could say, but would be unhelpful. “Where are you going, Newton?” he asked, and Newt turned so quickly he had to push his glasses up afterwards. 

“I dunno. To put on a clean shirt, I guess, or, maybe shower this experience off of me.”

“Well I didn’t know it was so unpleasant for you! You didn’t seem so averse a moment ago!” Just like that, Hermann’s rage went from zero to sixty. Newt had a distinct aptitude for doing that to him. 

“What? Me?! What about you? If you aren’t even queer or whatever, you should’ve said something, for fuck’s sake, so I don’t feel like a goddamn rapist!”

“WHAT?!” Hermann cried, while Newt flailed. “For god’s sake, Newton, what on earth would make you say such a thing?” 

“You expect me to believe this is your ‘experimental’ phase? You’re thirty-four years old, dude.” 

“So I’m too old to have a new experience? For heaven’s sake, Newton, what happened to your sense of discovery? That is a misguided and frankly surprising sentiment, coming from you, honestly!”

Newt threw up his hands. “I don’t want to be your experiment, man! That’s so goddamn rude, for real.” 

“It isn’t— It’s not an ‘experiment’. I’m just… I’m, I’m so infrequently sexually attracted to people, I suppose I never even considered it!” 

This seemed to give Newt pause. “What do you mean by that?” All the kinetic energy went out of him as he stood and stared at Hermann, still sitting shirtless in the desk chair. 

“Just what I said! I rarely find people sexually attractive.” He didn’t like being analysed for this. He didn’t think it made him particularly unusual— nothing wrong with a low sex drive, after all, and he assumed it left him fewer distractions from concentrating on his work. 

“Oh. Huh. Well, I guess that’s. Cool, so. Um.” 

“Newton.”

“Yeah?”

“Spit it out.”

“Okay, shit! What I mean to say is, you’re not attracted to people a lot. So. What was all that, you know, that we just did?”

“You are not a stupid man, Newton, figure it out.”

Newt’s mouth made a funny line and he ran his fingers through his hair. 

“So then, you are attracted to me?” He bit the inside of his lip, trying not to fidget while Hermann levelled an unimpressed gaze at him from under his brows.

“Newton, really. Look at me.” He gestured demonstratively to his state of undress, his slouched posture, his rumpled trousers. He didn't want to give Newton any more ammunition, but to refuse would put an end to... Whatever was happening.

“Uh.” Newt looked. He swallowed, put his hands on his hips, glanced to the side, and then fixed his eyes on Hermann again. “You look kinda cold, actually.”

“I am.”

“Are you gonna get out your electric blanket?” 

Hermann blinked at him slowly, his mouth a flat, grim line. He arched a brow and leaned on one fist.

“I was rather hoping, actually, that you would come back over here and cover my body with your own.” He hoped that sounded confident enough. 

Newt stumbled back a few paces, his face flushing so bright and so fast he thought his glasses might fog up— a reaction he was almost sure couldn’t actually happen. “You fucking what?” he stuttered. “What the shit, man, you don’t say stuff like that!”

Pulling his hands into his lap, then crossing his arms instead, Hermann sat back, his shoulders drawing up and his frown deepening. “Oh, indeed I don’t, do I? Well, I suppose I should endeavour to keep it that way!” Hermann hissed. ‘See if I ever say a kind word to you again, you insufferable oaf!’ he thought, reaching for his shirts, becoming more and more viciously regretful by the moment.

“No no no, wait! I said wait, goddammit!” Newt rushed forward and caught Hermann’s wrists as he moved to put his shirts on again. “Come on, don’t do that. You caught me off-guard is all. I mean, I wouldn’t be totally opposed to you saying more stuff like that. You know. If you wanted to.”

“‘Not totally opposed’,” Hermann parroted sarcastically. 

“Yeah, you know, like… if we continued doing, uh, the thing we were doing,” he winced inwardly, “you could keep talking like that? I’d be into it. Um. If you wanted clarification.” He watched Hermann chew his lip with a furrowed brow, saccadic motions of his eyes betraying nothing. “Or, you know, you could watch me flounder around, doing all the work here, mind you, and, you could, you know, sit there like a dead fish. That’s cool, too.”

“Well—!” Hermann spat, but then he took a deep breath and let it hiss out through his teeth. He closed his eyes, and let his shoulders sag. He laced his fingers in front of him, and crossed his legs. Finally, he looked up sharply, and Newt almost jumped at the fierceness of that gaze. “Newton we can talk in circles like this all night. You know that.”

“Um, yeah,” Newt agreed, shifting on his feet. “But like, I feel like, so long as we’re committing to an all-night engagement, there could be, you know, better ways to spend that time. If you know what I mean.” 

“I do.”

“So then…?” 

“Well I think perhaps you were right about one thing,” Hermann admitted, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. 

“Oh god, this is gonna be good, you admitting I was right about something.” This earned him a warning look from Hermann who, horror of horrors, was collecting his shirts again. 

“Perhaps the lab is not the best venue for this. Should we perhaps adjourn to… I don’t know, someplace else?” He’d almost said ‘my bedroom,’ but that would have been… he didn’t know if ‘too cheesy’ or ‘too real’ was more appropriate. 

“Fuck that, man,” Newt retorted, crossing the room with determined strides. “I am not losing the progress we’ve made here.” With that, he pulled the iron bolt from the floor and allowed the heavy steel door to swing shut with a bang that made Hermann jump. While Newt slipped the bolt into the ‘locked’ position again, and set the matching pin into the top of the doorframe, Hermann returned to his seat, and asked if Newt didn’t think that would look suspicious, massive bang and then a locked door, like that. 

“Naw,” Newt assured him. “If we weren’t meant to close this door, they wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of drilling a hole into the concrete for the bolt to slide into.”

Hermann surmised that was fair play, and tried to calm his nerves as well as dispose of the idea that this was mad, truly, utterly stark-raving mad, a lunatic idea that was not only not only totally and completely crazy, but also, very ill-advised. He couldn't work out exactly why this was such a bad idea, but some nagging part of him-- the part that had fastidiously reminded him not to act on most of the instances in which he was attracted to someone-- insisted quite convincingly that it was. The longer it took for Newt to secure the door, the longer that small, persistent part of himself had to concoct reasons. It could be because Newton was his colleague, with whom he would have to continue to share a space even if this encounter went unspeakably badly; or because Newton was very much in the habit of making fun of him and this was one arena in which Hermann felt he could not tolerate criticism; or because, when it came down to it, the few times he'd found himself in a sexual situation, he'd quickly realised that his desire for his partner was invariably far greater than the desire his partner held for him. His mind lingered on this last point, picked at it until it festered. 

Soon enough, Newton was trotting back  over, wiping his hands on his skinny jeans and smiling like nothing in the world could bring him down. Well, Hermann felt he had a singular talent for sucking all the fun out of a room. 

"Newton..."

The biologist's smile faltered and his heavily decorated shoulders tensed. "I know that look," he answered. "You're gonna ask me for something you don't think I'll like."

"I--" Hermann stumbled over his words, and he hated himself for it: "Which, what look is that be, er, that is, what look do you mean?" 

"It's like you turn off the lights behind your eyes, man." His hand gesture was not particularly explicative. "Like, in case I say no, you can be like, 'oh, I didn't really care anyway,' you know?" 

"I hardly think I'm that petty, Newton," Hermann retorted. Newton told him to go ahead and ask whatever it was. Hermann's shoulders jittered, and Newt guessed it might have been a shrug. 

"Newton, I... I just want to make sure you do actually want to do this, er, with me."

Newt scoffed. "What, like I'm trying to get into your pants out of the goodness of my heart? Think about these things, man, shit." He came to stand behind Hermann's chair and began wheeling it toward the sofa they'd inherited when the J-tech lounge got a better one. 

"For god's sake, why?" Hermann asked before he could stop himself, and Newt stalled behind him. 

"God, you want me to give you a systematic breakdown of all the reasons I'm trying to get busy with you? Alright, if that's what does it for you, Herms. Number one," and Hermann was glad Newton couldn't see his face, "I like a man who can make me laugh. And you are fuckin' hilarious, even when you're not trying to be. I swear to god some of the things you come out with, I have to try so hard to keep a straight face because I know you'd murder me for laughing. Number two," he shook the chair and encouraged Hermann to move to the couch. "And this might be related, you antagonize me all the time, but sometimes, it's like, the dumbest kind of insults, like we're in grade school, and it's the cutest damn thing. Seriously, you're ridiculous, but it turns me on, so I guess that makes me pretty strange, too. Number three," he crowded Hermann on the couch, leaning into him until Hermann was forced to lie back. "You put on this stuffy affectation that makes me want to get under your skin... Or at least your sweater. But then, when you're relaxed, you say stuff like 'nuffink' instead of 'nothing', 'froo' instead of 'through'. And I feel honored that you'd do that around me." His knees went opposite Hermann's thighs, but he held himself over the mathematician, barely touching him. "Number four, and I'm sure this is the one you were waiting for, is that you're fucking brilliant, and I used to check the mailbox every day waiting for your letters, and, okay, big fucking confession? I may or may not have jacked off after reading one or two of them because you were just, I dunno man. You'd talk about all this crazy advanced robotics stuff, or like, mind-blowing cosmological stuff, and I'd try googling what the heck you were talking about but like, there was no information, because you were at the forefront of the research, you were the guy, and if you-- or I guess your dad-- hadn't put out a paper then the info just wasn't there. But you were talking to me like I'd understand, like you assumed I'd be on the same page as you. And back then, that was really something, because, I dunno, like, people really danced around me when I was younger. Nobody knew exactly how to act around me. But you just, took for granted that we were on the same level. And I guess we are, even if we're doing totally different stuff. So that's reason number four. Reason five is that I think you're foxy." And there, he gave Hermann that boyishly hopeful, lopsided smile, and Hermann felt himself blush again, and thought he might never cease, especially with Newton shifting a little awkwardly onto his forearms, aligning their bodies. 

"Wow, Herms," he teased, sliding his hips demonstratively up and down, "Flattery will get you everywhere, won't it..."

Hermann looked to the side and bit his lip. Yes, alright, perhaps he'd enjoyed Newton's (strange, scatalogical) praise a little more than expected, but that didn't mean the man had to put so fine a point on it. 

"Like that?" Newton cajoled, grinding a little harder, "God, yeah, me too. Can't wait to touch your cock, Hermann. Is it as gorgeous as the rest of you? Fun fact: the color of the inside of a guy's lip is more or less the same color as the head of his cock. And now that you're panting I can see what a fucking beautiful color it's gonna be." 

Hermann shivered, and felt his cock twitch in his trousers. He had never been complimented on something like that... In fact, it had never crossed his mind that the very colour of his, er, equipment could be attractive to someone. He realised it had been awhile since he'd said anything, and cleared his throat, praying his voice wouldn't embarrass him. 

"Would you like," he rasped, before swallowing and trying again, "Would you like to test that theory, Doctor Geiszler?" 

"Oh my god, yes, you have no goddamn idea," Newt gushed, immediately shifting his weight onto one arm so he could shove his other hand down between Hermann's legs, rubbing solidly with surprisingly dexterous fingers. Hermann jolted, then hissed with pain as the motion agitated his bad leg. "Oh--!" Newt started, but Hermann waved a dismissive hand.

"Don't stop, just... Just ignore it." 

His face was too precious, and Newt told him so. "You look like you're embarrassed about like, ten different things." 

Hermann grunted and tried to ignore Newton's comments, as well as the lingering pain in his thigh, and simply concentrated on the pressure of Newton's hand, its heat even through his trousers, stroking him blindly, inelegantly, but still so good. His eyes snapped shut and he rolled his hips, more careful than the first time, and was rewarded with a quiet moan from Newton. 

"Yeah," Newt croaked, breathless, unblinking, "Thrust into my hand. Fuck, I just imagined you creaming your pants under my fingers, holy shit. Can we do that sometime? Can I stroke you through these godawful old-man pajamas you wear and make you cum all over them?"

Biting his lip to stifle the comment about how Newton seemed to have skipped the whole awkward conversation about whether or not they'd be doing this again (leaving Hermann out of it entirely, mind you) and had expressed straight ahead to fairly kinky suggestions, Hermann protested that his trousers were not in fact pyjamas. Newton, however, was not listening. He was scooting down the couch until his knees touched the arm rest and his feet dangled in the air. 

"Newton, what...?" Hermann murmured, but then Newt made an answer seem redundant by pushing his face into the apex of Hermann's thighs, lips moving reverently over the wool, kissing Hermann's hard cock through his trousers. Hermann's body tensed, and he sucked in a gasp, fists clenching as he tried not to think too hard about it, lest he cum on the spot. 

Oh, but the warm, sweet pressure of Newt's lips, brushing deliciously over the crown of his cock as it pressed insistently against his undergarments and jumped to meet Newton's mouth. He shivered involuntarily, and felt more than heard Newton's answering groan. It vibrated through him, and his hand shot out before he'd had time to think about it, wrapping Newton's hair around his fingers. The moan this elicited was almost too much, and Hermann used his hold to wrench Newt's head up and away from his straining erection, panting heavily, and twitching. 

Newton whined, actually whined, and made to return to mouthing over Hermann's cock, but Hermann held him still. 

"Newton, please, I... I need a moment." 

Newt bucked into the couch cushions, and heard them squeak. "Fuck, Herms, tell me quick what you want because uh. I don't really want to cum by humping the sofa. And the evidence that I might is mounting. So. Little help here?" 

"How should we... proceed?" This was not an area in which he had any particular expertise, and he looked to Newton for guidance, much as it rankled. He pictured the handful of ways they could end up, and felt a wave of heat pass through him. He imagined himself in Newton's position, Newton's jeans unzipped so Hermann could wrap his lips around his cock and suck it. He imagined Newton on all fours, arse in the air so Hermann could work him open and then fuck him. He imagined himself bent double, on his back with his thighs open, allowing Newton to stretch him with his fingers and then plunge balls-deep inside him. He shuddered. 

"Wow, your dick just jumped, dude. You ever think about doing this before? You know, with me?" Newton's thumb stroked the outside seam on Hermann's trousers. "I hope I'm not the only one." 

Hermann shrugged. "I don't think I have the same libido as you, Newton. But, that doesn't mean I'm not interested now." He shifted, and hissed at the friction it brought against his cock. "How do you usually do this?"

"Oh yeah, you know, when I usually fuck my research partner, or when I usually have sex in a semi-public place."

"For god's sake, Newton, please!" Hermann complained, head thumping against the worn cushion. "Just tell me if you'd rather put your cock in me or the other way round!" He sounded fairly desperate, and Newt licked his lips, kneeling up to begin unlacing Hermann's ridiculous saddle shoes. Oxford shoes, an oxford shirt, and an Oxford graduate degree-- Newt noticed a theme in Hermann's self-styling. He decided not to mention it. 

"Uh, shit. Um. Have you ever, uh, y'know, enjoyed any anal play?" 

Hermann pulled a face. "Can't say I've ever experienced it." He figured a few exploratory passes in the shower didn't count. "But... I'd be willing to try, I suppose." Avoiding Newton's gaze, he instead concentrated on keeping his fingers from fidgeting, his thighs from twitching. 

"Oh my god. Okay, yeah, let's do this. If you don't like it, we can switch places, but uh. You know. I'll just... Hold up a sec, alright? I just gotta get, um. Something." 

All awkward limbs and stiff muscles, Newt clambered off the sofa and walked, slightly bowlegged, to his desk, where he retrieved a large plastic jar full of powdered surgical lubricant. 

"Just another minute!" he called, from the sink. He activated the powder as he'd done a hundred, possibly a thousand times, by adding a handful to a roughly equal amount of water and stirring it around with a glass rod. 

"I hope you're not using contaminated materials over there!" Hermann called from the couch. 

"Relax, these just came out of the wash," Newt assured him flatly. He had good faith in that machine... It was almost exactly like what a hospital would use to sterilise surgical equipment, only amped up a bit so it could fully denature kaiju blue. It also happened to be the fifth most expensive piece of tech in the room. He'd ribbed Hermann before that the Marshal liked Newt better, because the infra-red microscope the PPDC bought him cost a good $15k more than the array Hermann used to model the breach. 

He swiped the new box of nitrile gloves from the delivery cart as he passed it, walking gingerly back to Hermann's side and wincing as his exceptionally skinny jeans pulled tight across his erection, the zipper biting into him through his boxers. 

"You're gonna love the hell out of this," he promised, regaining something of his bravado. "Because like, who better to rock your body than a biologist, right?" He kicked a chair close enough that he could set his cup of freshly mixed lubricant and his box of nitrile gloves on its seat, and knelt over Hermann, again, whose face, it seemed, had not yet decided how to react to these proceedings. 

"I don't suppose you have a condom in your MechaGodzilla wallet, do you?" he asked, without even a trace of humour. Newton stilled. 

"I uh. No, I don't. Friction degrades latex so I don't keep them in my, plus it's been a while since, um. No. Should I? I mean I haven't uh, been with anyone since my last STI work up so..." 

He trailed off and Hermann asked, "And when was that?"

"Oh about five months ago. I'd been chatting with this girl online, and we agreed to meet, and so I figured, might as well get a checkup, you know in case, but it didn't work out."

"Oh no?" Hermann wasn't looking at him. 

"No, it turned out she was in that kaiju worship cult, and assumed I was too because of my tattoos which she saw in my profile picture but. Yeah no it didn't, uh..." He seemed to cotton on to Hermann's darkening expression. "Look that's not the point. The point is, you're here, I'm here, you're hard, I'm hard, I'd really like to do something about that in the near future. Um," he stalled. "I'm gonna take off my pants, now," Newt said, as if in warning, before he unbuttoned his trousers and pushed his fly open. He had to sit on the edge of the couch and shimmy his hips to get his jeans down to his knees, before toeing out of his loosely laced boots and pulling his jeans inside-out in the effort it took to pull them off. Hermann watched quietly, and it was only when Newton was stripped down to his boxers that he even took notice of Hermann again. 

"Wait, do you have anything?"

"No! When would I have-- I already told you I-- no. I am free of any communicable disease," he finished plainly, and Newt could see how badly Hermann wanted to lace his fingers in front of himself, point made.

"Well," he replied, "What are you waiting for?" He tugged the too-short hem of Hermann's slacks. "These things are so loose, I can tell exactly how hard you are. You want me to suck you first, or...?" 

With less drama than it took for Newton, Hermann shuffled his trousers off his legs and folded them delicately over the arm of the couch. When he looked up again, Newton was staring, and Hermann's expression soured. 

"Look, I know it's not pretty but that doesn't mean you have to--!"

"Shut up, man, this isn't about your surgical scars. It's like, your legs are all... long and, and... sinuous. And I can see all the component parts of your knees." He stripped Hermann's socks off. "Even your feet are pretty," he commented, before Hermann snatched his foot back, scandalised, but not offended. "What?" Newt asked, nearly affronted. "They are! They're pale and thin, with prominent tendons, just like the rest of you." He reached for Hermann's foot again. "Tempted as I might be to tickle the ever-loving shit out of you, I'm restraining myself. Because I'm a good person, Herms." 

With a scoff, Hermann crossed his arms over his bare chest. He felt as though Newton was drawing this out unnecessarily, and, truth be told, wanted to get on with it. Not that he was impatient... Heaven forbid he should ever be accused of such a thing. But, Newton was right, he was achingly hard, he was sweating, his heart thudded in his chest, and the longer Newton talked, the more time he spent not kissing Hermann, and it was starting to affect Hermann's frayed nerves. 

"You have the cutest ankles, Hermann," he enthused, circling a knobbly bone with the tip of his finger, tickling Hermann despite his promises to the contrary, "I've always thought that. Because your pants are almost always too short and so your ankles peek out of these baggy pantlegs like, all delicate, and you wear all these ridiculous socks like, argyle? For real? Lemon and puce stripes? Where do you even get those?" The corners of Hermann's mouth turned down, but before he could complain, Newt went on, "But it works because it's you, you know? I don't know what it is but like, seeing your ankles all slim and pretty is like... Maybe this is what the Victorians were on about, huh?"

Hermann hooked his good leg around Newton's hips and pulled him close. His face felt hot, but he canted it up and silently urged Newt to follow through. When Newton did, by bending his elbows and bumping his glasses against Hermann's cheeks in an effort to kiss him quick, their bodies aligned, and Hermann could feel the hot, hungry length of Newt's cock, through only the thin fabric of their shorts, and it was even better than with their trousers on. He groaned aloud and hitched his hips up, sliding his cock along Newton's, feeling it out. In just a little while, that cock would be inside him, and the thought made his pulse quicken. 

"Oh, fuck, yeah..." Newt groaned, bearing down on Hermann's hips, his eyes falling closed. "Fuck, I can't wait. There's so goddamn much I want to do to you, I don't even know where to start. Here, lemme just--" He kneeled up, caging Hermann with his body. "Take your boxers off, I'm done waiting to see your dick. C'mon, man, I'm dyin'. Can't believe I'm gonna be your first dude. Jesus shit, do you have any idea how many times I've imagined this?" 

There were too many threads in Newt's chatter for Hermann to follow up on them. Instead he looked down the length of his own body, appraising the tent in his shorts, the humiliating wet spot beginning to form where his tip brushed the fabric. 

"What about you, then?" he challenged, noticing a similar blot on the front of Newton's boxers. 

"Me? Well, no shit I'm gonna take off my boxers. I can't fuck you with them on, you know. Well I could, but I don't want to. You first though." 

"Why me first?" Hermann asked, suddenly suspicious. If this was all a tremendous practical joke on Newton's part, he didn't think he'd ever forgive the man. He'd requisition to have all of his materials moved to the basement. He'd build a wall along the line between their spaces, if he had to do it himself. 

"Because I've wanted this longer than you, therefore I've been waiting longer. Additionally, I asked you first." He stared Hermann down, a smile hiding in his stubble, and Hermann huffed before shoving at his underwear. He pulled the elastic up and away from his body, and when he'd gotten the garment halfway down his thighs (about as far as he could reach without bending), Newt looked him over, unashamedly. 

"Yeah, wow," the biologist mumbled, eyes not moving from the blush of Hermann's cock, precum shining at the tip, the dark line of hair that led down to it. "Christ Hermann, I think I'm gonna have to suck you at least a little. Your dick is like, perfect, all thick and cut and, fucking, shit, look at this, my mouth is actually watering."

Hermann watched him swallow, before Newt helped him pull his shorts down his legs to be dropped unceremoniously over the side of the couch. 

"I might want you to fuck me next time, dude. I bet your cock would feel so good inside me. Seriously. I bet the stretch would be unbe-fucking-lievable." He placed his palm on Hermann's inner thigh and ran it up to the crease where it met his body. Then, finally, he brushed his thumb along the base of Hermann's cock, almost fondly, and Hermann sucked in a breath so fast he almost choked. "Talk to me, man," he pleaded. "Let me know how I'm doing." 

Hermann grunted. "More, please," he mumbled, hips moving almost of their own accord, seeking more friction, more heat, more of Newton's hand on his desperate cock. 

"Oh, God," Newt groaned, wrapping his fist around Hermann's erection and giving it a few firm strokes before seemingly losing the battle with his patience and shifting down so he could suck the tip into his mouth. "This is so much better than through your old man pajamas," he mumbled against it. Then he was sliding his lips and tongue down the length and Hermann gripped hard into the cushions to keep from thrusting up and choking him. His thighs quaked with the effort, and he knew Newton could feel it, one arm wrapped around his right leg, the other reaching up to rub his left nipple. Hissing, Hermann quivered at the dual onslaught. He didn't think anyone had ever tweaked at his chest like that, and it was making his guts twist, his knees shake. 

"Newton," he moaned, and the answering groan Newt gave him thrummed through him and made him clench his eyes shut to keep from cumming. 

"Kay so," Newton croaked, pulling off and wiping his face, "I used to be able to do this thing, right, but the last time I did it was in graduate school so... bear with me a moment. If I can still do it, it's gonna rock your world entirely. So. Hold still." With that, he wrapped thumb and forefinger around Hermann's base, angling his cock just so into his mouth. Newt tilted his head, and edged up on the cushions, and then he sank down, and down, and down, until Hermann's cock bumped the back of his throat. 

Hermann's heart pounded in his chest. He knew what Newt was attempting to do, and he held perfectly still, not just for Newton's benefit, but because he was afraid one errant twitch would finish him. Newt hesitated, and Hermann swallowed, watching him move almost imperceptibly, before, fuck, there it was, Newton had swallowed the head of his cock, and his throat contracted around him, and Hermann barked out a curse and his hands flew into Newt's hair again. "Newton, Newt, I, I'm--!" His voice shook with rising panic, but Newt pulled off with a slurp and a cough, and Hermann's whole body sagged. Newt removed his glasses and dropped them on the chair next to his nitrile gloves. 

"Didn't wanna cum yet?" He asked, squinting near-sightedly at the long lines of Hermann's body. Hermann shook his head.

"What should I...?" He glanced at the cup of lubricant, and back at Newton again, steadying his nerves by chewing the inside of his lip. 

"Oh, um," Newt cast about until his eyes landed on their sole throw pillow, knocked to the ground when they'd climbed onto the couch. He plucked it up and dusted it off. "Can you get this under your hips, and then arrange yourself in the most comfortable position, for, uh, y'know."  

Why Newton wasn't able to properly articulate, Hermann did not know, but he lifted his hips and shoved the pillow under them all the same, bracing his bad leg over the back of the couch. This left him incredibly open, and exposed, and he looked to the side, concentrating on the distant blinking of electronics, instead of on Newton pulling boxers off, gloves on, and dipping his fingers into the lube. 

"So this might be cold at first. It's water-based so I assume it's gonna take a little while to warm up." He rubbed it between his fingers, and Hermann braced himself. Newt watched, and put a gloved hand on his thigh. Only then did Hermann turn back to him, and see Newton Geiszler naked for the first time. 

All those tattoos worked in concert, and went all the way to the base of his cock. It seemed that Newton must shave his pubic area, and possibly everywhere else, so as not to interrupt the clean lines of the tattoo. Hermann licked his lips, looking at the way Newton's hard, heavy cock rose out of swirls of colour, framed by screaming kaiju on his thighs. He reached out a hand and beckoned Newt closer. As soon as Newton was near enough, Hermann reached between them to palm Newt's erection, and feel him out. He was so hot, and for some reason, Hermann had expected him to be uncircumcised-- though he was not disappointed to find Newt's cock cut and bare. He was thick, thicker than Hermann, especially around the middle of the shaft. Hermann knew that when Newt pushed into him, he'd be able to feel that graduated size, be able to judge how much of it was in him. Newton's lashes fluttered while Hermann stroked him slowly. 

"What's next?" Hermann urged, and Newt forced his eyes open. 

"Okay, uh," Newt sat back, and Hermann could no longer reach his cock. "Should be warm enough by now." Then, his slick fingers began brushing up and down Hermann's arse, and he jolted with a gasp, but Newt was there, soothing him with his other hand, telling him to relax. "I'm sure you understand the logistics involved here," he murmured, still rubbing lube over Hermann's hole over and over again, making him tingle with sensitivity. Hermann nodded, took a deep breath, and relaxed his body. The tip of Newton's middle finger slipped in, and Hermann closed his eyes to concentrate on the feeling.

He could feel every minute motion, and as Newt rubbed his finger around, he began to feel as though it wasn't enough. Just the tip of one finger couldn't touch everything that wanted touching, and he shifted to bear down on it, but Newt pulled away.

"Not good?" he asked, but Hermann whined and tilted his chin up. 

"You stopped," he complained, and Newt moaned a quiet, "Oh, God," before swiping his fingers through the lube again and pressing his index inside of Hermann, centimetre by centimetre. Hermann devoted his attention to breathing evenly, and staying relaxed, while Newton began thrusting that finger in and out of him. It was odd, but it gave him the feeling that it would get a whole lot better if he could be patient. He flexed his body and it changed the angle and there was something there, something Newton couldn't quite reach. He knew enough about human anatomy to be able to guess at what it was. 

"More," he demanded, voice low, gravelly, and when Newton withdrew one finger and returned with two, it dragged a long, sustained moan out of him. "Yes, Newton, you're almost on it," he whispered, eyes falling closed as he attempted to roll his body into Newton's questing fingers. 

Newt gulped loudly, and Hermann felt Newton's ring finger teasing at his entrance. "Wanna try for three?" he asked, cursing the way his voice squeaked. Hermann only nodded, a vague smile playing at his lips. 

Three fingers burned and stretched in a way that two did not, and Hermann gasped and twisted, the ugly couch fabric creaking under his fingers. Newt tried to be gentle, tried adding more lube, but Hermann just grit his teeth and consciously relaxed his muscles again, waiting for the pain to pass. 

"You alright?" Newt asked, moving his fingers only just slightly. 

"Yes I'll... I've endured worse pain than this. My understanding is that once the pain fades, it should be quite enjoyable, is that not so?" 

Newt almost laughed at the front of propriety Hermann put on, but he twisted his fingers instead and watched the way Hermann's body reacted to it. Beautifully, he reacted beautifully. He hissed and arched and slammed his fists against the sofa, a growled "Bloody, Christ, Newton!" falling from his lips before he was moving again, trying to fuck himself on Newt's fingers. "You were right on it, for pity's sake!" he complained, twisting one way and then the other. Newt made an effort, seeking out that spot again, and he damn well knew when he'd found it because Hermann stuffed one hand into his mouth to muffle a scream, and wrapped the other around the base of his cock, squeezing tight to keep his bollocks from hitching up, forestalling his orgasm yet again. 

"That is so fucking hot, watching you try not to cum," Newt admitted rapturously. "You think you're ready yet?"

"Mmgh," Hermann slurred, not having  removed the hand from his mouth, for fear he'd lose the tenuous grip on his cock. Finally, after a few beats in which Newton, bless him, stayed relatively still, Hermann was able to pull his hand free. There were bite marks on his knuckles. "Another finger, I think," he panted, his bitten hand landing somewhere near his throat. He could feel his wild heartbeat, and hoped Newton wouldn't be too impatient to comply. 

"What, four? You want four fingers in you? That's nearly my whole hand, dude!" Newt protested, incredulous. 

Hermann harrumphed and cast a sharp look in Newton's direction. "I am aware of that Newton. You'll find I can in fact do basic maths. And I have seen your cock, and assessed its approximate volume, and I have thereby hypothesised that four fingers will be sufficient for us to... to proceed." 

Newt stalled only a moment before sliding his eyes over to the cup of lubricant. He drizzled a bit more over his fingers and Hermann started at the cold, but then Newt was edging in a fourth finger, unbelieving of everything that had come to pass in his life up to this point. 

"Wow," he said, when most of his hand had slipped inside Hermann. "Wow." Experimentally, he pulled his fingers out, slow, and even, and then pushed back in again. On the second pass, he curled his digits to stroke along Hermann's insides, and felt the full-bodied shiver he got in reply. The next thrust back in again was quicker, and Hermann gasped aloud. "How's that feel?" he asked, though based on Hermann's expression alone, he needn't have done. 

With lips half open and eyes half closed, Hermann was panting and staring blindly at the ceiling. He rolled his body into every motion of Newt's fingers, high, thin sounds escaping his throat. After a long while, so long that Newt didn't think he was going to get an answer, Hermann finally said, "It hurts... But I like it." And his voice shook, but his tone was so matter-of-fact, Newton thought he ought to laugh, but it came out as a moan. 

"Do you think you might be a little bit of a masochist?" he teased, fluttering his fingers and watching Hermann's body arch into it. 

"Don't think too much on it," Hermann warned in response. Heaven knew what Newton would do with the knowledge if Hermann said he liked a little pain with his pleasure. Newton was never one for moderation, after all. 

With a grin, Newt pushed his hand in a little harder, and Hermann only barely managed to muffle his shout by clamping his hand over his mouth. His other hand scrabbled at his own lower belly, warring with the urge to touch his cock. 

"God you want it so bad, don't you?" Newt fairly crooned, and Hermann couldn't tell if he was teasing again or not. "You really do, holy shit. If I'd known you'd be down for this, I'd have asked you years ago." 

"I'm not the only one," Hermann countered, nodding in the direction of Newton's flushed erection, which dripped insistently after having been ignored for so long. "You look rather desperate yourself." 

"Oh I am," he agreed. "Basically the second you say you're ready, I'm gonna be in you faster than you can say Yamarashi." 

"Why would I say that?" Hermann complained, but it dissolved into moans when Newton shoved the full flat of his hand inside him and gave it a slow turn. His eyes fell shut again, unable to keep them open, and he shucked a hand up into his own hair, wordless exclamations ripped from him with every move Newton made. 

He looked positively witless, and Newt told him so:

"Hermann, Herms, you look incredible. How does it feel? You look like it feels really good. I'd bet you look about as good as it feels, Herms. You look goddamn delicious." 

Another few mind-altering sweeps of Newton's fingers along his insides and Hermann was practically sobbing. "Please, Newton," he cried, and the sound of Doctor Hermann Gottlieb begging did wildly unhelpful things to Newt's cognitive faculties, "I need--!" He broke off, and Newt had to assume that Hermann didn't have words for the request he was making. 

He needed to be fucked, because he needed to be satisfied, he needed a bone-deep itch to be scratched, he needed to feel the ache of human connection, the closest two people could physically be, fitting each other like a tessellation, a synergetic equation where the result is greater than the sum of its parts. But he did not say any of this. What he said was, "I think I need you in me."

He was so serious that Newt could hardly believe it, but he pulled out his hand, eliciting a contradictory whine, pulled his glove inside-out, and dropped it on the chair, fishing for a new one without even thinking about it. He would never get enough of the decorum with which Hermann mumbled filthy things. 

"Okay so," he murmured. He felt he had to mentally prepare himself for this one, and that was saying something. He lubed his fingers up again and stroked himself delicately. Too much and he was sure he'd lose it, and the thought was nearly heartbreaking. Grasping himself, he nudged against Hermann's well-prepared entrance, and that tentative brush at the head of his cock made him shudder. He pushed in, gritting his teeth and mentally reciting the organs of the kaiju endocrine system to avoid cumming too soon. God it was almost too much, Hermann tight and wet around him, flushed bright and red, his cock a hungry column against his belly, slicking down the line of hair from his navel to his base with pearls of precum Newt could actually smell. Hermann bit his lip and when he reached down to grasp his right thigh and pulled it towards his chest, Newt moaned a curse and bucked his hips involuntarily. Hermann sucked in a gasp and Newt couldn't believe his eyes: Hermann Gottlieb, holding himself open for Newt to fuck him, panting for it, hips hitching more and  more the longer Newt held still. Then, Hermann forced his eyes open only to glare at Newt, and it was all too perfect. 

"You stopped again," he stated venomously, wondering what exactly was Newton's problem, and he'd just begun to tell Newton precisely why this was wholly unacceptable when Newt drew nearly all the way out and Hermann's voice left him with a choked-off sob. His eyes clenched shut again and he twisted on the cushions, until Newton angled back in again and made spots of red and black dance behind his eyelids. 

Hermann was so blisteringly ready for this, so turned on, and he could tell Newton was aiming for the spot he'd found earlier that would really make Hermann lose his senses. He picked up speed, and Hermann worked his body one way and then another, until there it was, and it was like lightning. He shook and moaned and told Newton "There, just there, my god!" while his grip slipped on his thigh and his other hand clutched the back of the couch for dear life. He couldn't even think of touching his cock. He wanted this pleasure to go on forever. It came from so deep inside of him, and each strike against his prostate made him tremble as if he were cumming, but then Newt would pull out and he'd calm, only for the next thrust to push him higher. 

It was bliss. Newt watched Hermann contort, seeking his own pleasure, fucking himself on Newt's cock and then tucking the fingers of his free hand into his mouth again. He groaned thickly, luxuriantly around them, head rolling side to side on the armrest of the couch, hair forging in new and exciting directions. 

"Newton, so thick, good Christ...!" He wailed, hand moving up to cover his eyes as if the very sight of Newt fucking him was too much. 

"Yeah, you feel--" and it was only at the hoarseness of his own voice that he realised how long it had been since he'd said anything, so concentrated was he on the moans and whimpers bubbling up out of Hermann. "You feel fan-fucking-tastic. God I'm not gonna last much longer, no matter how much I wanna fuck you all day and night." 

Hermann dragged his hand down from his face. It landed near his hip and flexed against his sweaty skin. He blinked up at Newton, and his lips, parted around his heavy breath, twitched upwards in just the barest hint of a smile. Then, he was cumming, his eyes fluttered shut, and his orgasmic groan seemed almost unearthly. 

"Newton...!" he cried, free hand finally reaching for his own cock, stroking its underside gently with two fingers just to draw it all out, prolong his orgasm even as he spurted in great white arcs across his stomach and up to his chest. "Oh, I'm cumming, Newton, I'm cumming, yes, oh!" he gasped, and then, after a final shiver that left his cock dripping, his shoulders sagged, and he wiped his fingers on his hip, and he looked up at Newton with some inscrutable emotion between gratitude and wonder.

Newt took all of this in, and how, with each jolt of Hermann's cock, his ass clenched around Newt, holding him in, and the way Hermann continued making tiny grunts with each of Newt's increasingly frenzied thrusts, and the way he licked his lips and tightened his grip on his thigh, kept himself open and willing for Newt to continue riding his ass, making him ache so beautifully. 

"Are you going to cum inside me?" Hermann asked lightly. Newt studied his face, and found that vague smile still there. 

"Do you, uh. Do you want me to?" The shrillness of his own voice was embarrassing, but Hermann demurred to the side. He shrugged minutely. 

"I've never..." he reminded Newton, whose hips sped at the admission. "But, if you did..." He left that statement unfinished, the invitation hanging in the air. When his eyes met Newton's again, his pupils had completely swallowed his irises, and he gulped audibly before mumbling, "Please, Newton," and Newt was lost. 

"Oh, fuck!" He shouted, bucking hard enough to make Hermann yelp. "Fuck, Hermann, I am gonna cum all up inside you, paint your guts with it. Your semipermeable membranes are going to absorb parts of me and make them parts of you. Gonna be inside you for a good long time, even after I pull my cock out. Fuck, Hermann I'm gonna—!” 

Hermann felt the hot rush of it inside him and shuddered, eyes wide. "Ah!" he barked, then, "Hah, Mmm..." he sighed, stroking his own skin, deciding that he liked it. 

Newt watched, disbelieving, and it spurred him on, the next pulse of it so strong he nearly blacked out. The edges of his vision were blurry and spotted as he clenched his teeth, groaning through it, while Hermann took it all, almost greedily. "Hermann, oh my god," he whined, over-stimulated, but unwilling to pull out of Hermann's hot, clenching ass. "Hermann. Hermann, fuck, I just, I can't, ungh...!" His body quaked, but he could tell he was cumming dry. He sat back, pulling out roughly and making Hermann hiss, but when Newt looked up, Hermann was reaching down between his spread legs, feeling the cum leaking out of his hole, and his expression was nothing short of beautiful. God, he was beautiful. Confusion and pleasure writ across his face in the knit of his brow and the slant of his lips, Hermann fingered himself gently, feeling the soreness of his well-used hole and running the tip of his middle finger through Newt's cum as it dribbled out of him and pooled on the ugly old throw pillow. Newt's pelvic floor gave a pathetic clench, one that hurt just as much as it felt good, and he had to remind himself that he wasn't sixteen anymore and he'd need at least twenty minutes before he could ask Hermann to do it all over again. Hermann who had withdrawn his fingertip and closed his eyes and relaxed back into the arm of the couch. Newt could only watch, could only sit in silence trying to etch this image of Hermann, smiling beatifically and post-coitally at the metal rebar cris-crossing the ceiling, into the memory processing structures of his hippocampus. 

"Newton," Hermann rumbled, eyes still shut, and Newt startled. 

"Yeah?"

"I..." he stalled, and Newt edged forward on the couch, fingers hungry to touch Hermann's skin, still shiny with sweat. "Will you forgive me if I don't return to work immediately? I may need a moment to, erm." He gestured indistinctly at his body, and Newt shrugged, trying to keep his smile in check. 

"Yeah dude. Yeah. Whatever you need, just uh. Take your time."

"Right."

"Yeah."

In a while, they would go back to work. They would go back to bickering and flinging insults. Before that happened, though, Newt wanted to get one thing out there. 

"You look so good like this. And I mean, maybe I don't speak for you, but personally, I thought that was pretty fucking good. So. If you wanted to do that again..."

Hermann cracked one eye open. He gave the smallest nod, and at that, Newt couldn't withhold his grin. "Awesome! I mean," he coughed. "Uh, yeah. That'd be, um. Alright." He stood, stiffly, and took a few awkward steps, stretching. He snatched up his glasses, then picked up his boxers with his toes and flicked them up so he could catch them and pull them on. He smiled at Hermann, but Hermann wasn't looking at him. He set out, barefoot, towards his desk.

"Lemme get you a towel!" He called, from across the lab, and when his own desk turned up nothing, he crossed to Hermann's, and then laughed. 

"What?" Hermann asked, peering up over the back of the couch with consternation, "What are you laughing at?" Some of that familiar grouchiness was slipping back into Hermann's demeanour and Newt smirked at him. 

Newt brandished the blister pack that had started this all, with the scissors still encased inside. There was a long, jagged tear in the plastic, white where it had distorted. Hermann furrowed a brow at him. 

"All this talk of how smart you are and here you've solved the problem with brute force." 

Hermann shrugged and settled back into the couch cushions, ignoring the puddle of cum under him, and drying on his stomach. "Occam's Razor, Newton," he declared blandly.

"Actually, they're scissors," Newt said, and Hermann, despite himself, snorted a laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all liked it. Especially you, computerbaby!


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